Close Enough
by PristinelyUngifted
Summary: It started with sex. It started with sex, and maybe it wasn't love, but it was close enough.


**Warnings:** Explicit Sexuality; Graphic Fantasy Violence; Coarse Language.

**Setting:** Takes place senior year. The pack is down to Derek, Isaac, Scott, Stiles, Allison, and Peter. At the beginning of this fic, Lydia is more pack adjacent. Jackson never came back from London.

**Notes:** I really wanted this to exist, and so now it does. I feel like I should apologize, but I'm just really really not sorry.

I have some ideas for a companion piece and/or continuation, but I thought I'd see how this piece does first. 3 So, let me know if you'd be interested in other pieces in this 'verse. :D

**This version of the story is censored due to the content rules on this site. The uncensored version is available on AO3.**

* * *

_Close Enough_

It started with sex.

Well, more precisely, it started with a frantic phone call requesting Lydia's presence at the Hale loft to translate a passage of a book written in archaic Latin, but that was what ultimately led to the sex, and the sex was the real beginning.

Stiles was huffing and puffing into Lydia's ear, screaming at her that it was life or death and that his translation was obviously wrong because now they were playing hide and seek in the warehouse district with whatever monster had decided to come to the Beacon Hills Hellmouth that week. Scott could be heard in the background, growling at Stiles to be quiet because he was pretty sure they'd lost it and all they had to do now was make it to Allison's car, but if Stiles kept yelling it would come back.

Lydia contemplated.

"I'll do it," she said into the phone. "But I expect to be kept fully in the loop. And I refuse to be alone with Peter Hale. Pick me up in an hour."

"Yes, yes, great. Those are absolutely things we can do," Stiles babbled.

Lydia hung up before he could say goodbye, and went to get dressed – white mini dress patterned in rose petals, cropped red jacket, red heels, and red lipstick. In her red leather handbag, she packed all the usual things, her translation materials, a pair of running shoes, and a slim case in which she kept vials of wolfsbane, arsenic, holy water, and hydrochloric acid.

It paid to be prepared.

She was sitting in her downstairs living room when she heard a car approach. But it wasn't Stiles' jeep, or Allison's car.

It was Derek Hale's Camaro.

As she watched through the blinds, he got out of the driver's seat and came up to the door, dressed as he always was in tight jeans and an even tighter grey Henley that outlined his musculature, topped with his ever present leather jacket. Even though it was night he was wearing aviator sunglasses, more likely to hide his expressions from her than out of any desire to look cool.

Sometimes, he reminded her of Jackson in the most painful ways.

He could probably hear her heartbeat and her breath, so she didn't bother making him wait when he knocked on the door. She just opened it, and tossed a strawberry blonde curl over her shoulder. "Shall we?"

He frowned at her, turning on his heel and heading back to the car.

That was perfectly fine with her.

She climbed into the passenger seat, and they drove to his loft in silence.

The silence was unfortunately broken once they arrived. Peter had all sorts of sassy comments and innuendo to make, and came closer to Lydia than she would tolerate. When he dared to set a hand on her shoulder, she calmly reached into her bag, retrieved a vial of wolfsbane powder, unscrewed the cap, and tossed it into Peter's face.

He howled and gagged, vomiting and collapsing to the floor. Derek growled and whipped off his sunglasses, his eyes glowing red, though he made no move to attack. Perhaps he didn't know whose side to be on.

"Stop being so dramatic," Lydia told Peter, watching as he crawled toward the doorway. "It's a low concentration. Basically werewolf pepper spray. Flush your eyes with milk and you'll be fine. And remember what happens when you invade my personal space."

With that, she tuned him out and went back to conjugating the page in front of her. Derek made no attempt to help his uncle, and so the room was not quiet again until Peter had dragged himself away and passed out in his bedroom.

Surprisingly, Lydia found nothing wrong with Stiles' translation. "It's not the wrong information," Lydia told Derek. "It's an incorrect interpretation of the information. That, or the book itself is wrong."

Derek grunted at her and pulled out his phone, poking at the buttons. Lydia assumed he was informing the others of her discovery.

"An imp," she mused aloud, looking at the illustration of the creature. "Of the child stealing, guess my True Name variety?" She didn't ask if they'd already tried _Rumplestiltskin_, because she was sure that Stiles had, and equally sure it couldn't be that easy.

"Yes," Derek said, the first word he'd uttered all night.

_A ring of Cold Iron beneath a crescent moon will signal the Imp's defeat._

"They made a trap for it? With a circle of iron?"

"Yes."

"Hmm," Lydia said. She looked at Derek. He was watching her like she herself might be an imp, or like she might throw wolfsbane in his face, as she had done to Peter. His brow was wrinkled, his eyes ringed in red. He shuffled, clearly disliking having her in his home.

Lydia narrowed her eyes at him, primly returning her things to her bag and stepping around the mess Peter had made on the floor. She walked to the door, then turned and fixed Derek with a look.

"I didn't conspire with him to bring him back from the dead. He invaded my dreams, my mind, made me think I was going crazy. I spent three days wandering around naked in the woods, and I can't remember any of them. I saw my shower fill with blood and my hair fall out. I didn't know what I was doing until it was done. If you want to be angry at anyone for his return, be angry at him. But you will never hate him more than I do."

She never actually saw Derek move. He was across the room one instant, and the next he had her backed against the door, caged in with his body, and her purse – and thus her vials of wolfsbane – was out of reach, sitting on the end table by the sofa. He didn't hurt her. She wasn't slammed into anything, or even lightly slapped. Apparently even Derek Hale drew a line at striking a woman who didn't have supernatural healing abilities. But she certainly couldn't get away from him unless he let her.

"Peter killed my sister." Derek snarled into her face. "No one seems to remember that. No one except me."

Derek's eyes rolled red, and he pressed closer, trying to scare her, trying to intimidate. But Lydia Martin was not easy to scare, and as many things as she thought about Derek Hale, she didn't believe he would hurt her unprovoked, and she knew he wasn't a rapist.

She wanted to say something cutting, something that would hurt him and make him feel small. She wanted to say 'Oh boohoo, poor Derek lost his sister, of course that's so much worse than having someone take your free will from you, and use you to do something horrible.' She wanted to say she missed Jackson, because he was the only one who could possibly understand that, the only one who had been used worse than she was. But that would accomplish nothing, would just leave her pressed against a door by an angry werewolf who couldn't do much more to her than he was already doing, and yet was unwilling to back down.

So Lydia didn't do that.

Instead she leaned forward and up, pressing her lips to Derek's in a kiss. He jerked in surprise, every muscle tensing, and Lydia thought, _Yes, yes, I'm not afraid of you. In fact, you're afraid of me._

He pulled back and stared at her, gobsmacked, and Lydia raised an eyebrow, smirking in triumph. Daring him to take it further, but expecting him to back away. After all, that was why she'd done it.

But then Derek took her dare.

He crowded her closer to the door, their bodies pressed flush, and bent his head. He parted Lydia's lips with his tongue, and she grazed his with her teeth. A rumbling, growling sound made his chest vibrate, and Lydia hummed low in her throat, wrapping her arms around Derek's shoulders, feeling her nipples tighten and the beginnings of wetness between her thighs. Derek started hiking her dress up, and Lydia fumbled at his jeans, feeling how hard and hot he was inside them.

Then his fly was open and his jeans and briefs were pushed down to his thighs, and Lydia's legs were around Derek's waist. He held her weight like she was nothing, and she could feel the thick length of him rubbing against the silk of her underwear, feel the fabric wet through with slickness from both of them. Derek shifted into beta wolf form, his red eyes fixed on Lydia's, daring her. Daring her as she had dared him, daring her to call a halt, to ask him not to shift, to be afraid.

But she wasn't.

She kissed him through his fangs, and Derek ripped her panties away with his claws, shredding them at the seams. And then his cock was pressing at her slit, and it was their last chance, the last chance for either of them to stop this, but neither of them did, and they were fucking, fast and hard, Lydia wrapped around Derek as he thrust up into her.

Lydia knew from hours of private exploration the exact angle necessary to stimulate her g-spot, and she trusted Derek wouldn't drop her, so she hitched one leg higher than the other and leaned back, unashamedly keening when she achieved the pressure she wanted. And then Derek took her new position as opportunity to push the top of her dress down and suck one of her breasts into his mouth, swirling his tongue around her nipple.

Lydia came with a silent scream, the heels of her red Jimmy Choos digging into Derek's back. She yanked Derek's head up with a handful of hair, surging up to bite his throat. And that was another challenge, a dare, because she knew, she knew from her research that this was precisely the way a more powerful female werewolf would bite her lover. It was a bite Derek would never experience, not unless he allowed another alpha to dominate him.

She expected him to roar, to flash his eyes, for his orgasm to be ruined by the force of his fury.

But instead he shuddered and came hard, back arched, howling triumphantly, barely making it to the sofa before his knees buckled and he went limp beneath her, her teeth still locked in his throat.

He didn't speak, and she didn't either. She just sat there with him still inside her, semi-hard and twitching, and his arms around her. He nuzzled her throat and rubbed his cheeks against hers, and she allowed it, thinking.

Derek was never supposed to be an alpha. Lydia knew that much from the times she had questioned Stiles. Derek's mother was alpha, and then Laura after her.

Maybe he even missed it, longed to have someone to tell him what to do.

He had submitted to Lydia's bite with something like joy.

Lydia pulled Derek's head against her chest to make him listen to her heartbeat, and stroked his hair.

It was a good twenty minutes later that Derek abruptly sat up, horror making his eyes wide. His cock, soft now, slipped out of Lydia, and he flinched. "We didn't use a condom."

Lydia shrugged, unconcerned. "I'm on the pill. And as a werewolf, you aren't capable of either giving me STDs or catching them from me, even if I had one."

Derek became marginally less horrified, but continued, "You're just a kid, I'm sor – "

Lydia waved a hand at him and got up, wrinkling her nose when semen trickled down her legs. She found her ruined underwear and used it as a rag to clean herself up, saying in a matter of fact tone, "First of all, I'm eighteen, which is the age of consent in California. Second, if either of us is a kid, it's you, Derek."

Lydia had been taking care of herself since she was twelve years old. Ever since the divorce, her father had treated her as the de facto Lady of the House – she managed the staff, made sure the bills were paid, and oversaw the budget. She decorated and decided when they were renovating. She gave herself an allowance and made sure her homework was done on time and made her own decisions about who was acceptable company and when was a decent time to be home. She had been an adult far longer than Derek had, even with his tragic past.

She could have said all of these things to Derek, but by the look on his face, she didn't think she had to. So she tossed her ruined underwear at him, deciding to let him keep them as a souvenir, and a reminder.

"Now take me home," she instructed him, once she had righted her clothes.

Derek silently obeyed.

**-l-**

Lydia didn't see Derek again for two and a half weeks. It didn't bother her, as that was hardly unusual, though she rather thought it bothered Derek. He kept sending her messages through Stiles and Isaac.

"Derek said to tell you about another run in with the imp."

"Derek said to ask you…"

"Derek wants to know…"

Of course, Lydia had demanded to be kept in the loop as part of the price for her translation services, but Derek had a cellphone. He even had her number, because he had everyone's numbers in case of emergency. If he wasn't actively avoiding her, he could have just called or texted himself.

It was the night of the full moon when she saw Derek again. She was sitting at the vanity in her bedroom that doubled as a desk (she had a proper desk in her office across the hall, but she preferred to use the vanity when she was merely surfing the internet and reading) when there was a scratching at her window, and two pinpoints of red appeared, glowing in the dark.

Her heart gave a stutter, and then Lydia took a deep breath and casually put her hand near the collection of perfume bottles that covered one corner of the vanity. The first row was actually perfume, the second was incendiary liquids, the third was various poisons, the fourth was filled with supernatural creature specific repellants, and the fifth was antidotes. "Derek, if that's you, you have five seconds to let me know," she warned him.

The red points of light moved closer, and Lydia could see that it was, in fact, Derek. Looking down at herself, Lydia took in that she was wearing pink polka-dot panties and a beige camisole, and nothing else. But then, she'd fucked Derek the last time she saw him, so it didn't really matter. She unlocked the window and then returned to her chair in front of the vanity.

"Why didn't you just use the door?" she demanded. "I could have hurt you."

She wouldn't say, _You scared me._

Derek was wolfed out, and seemed to be having trouble focusing. He kept staring at her, his nostrils flaring. Eventually he growled out, "Didn't want your parents to see."

Lydia scoffed. "My mother lives in Paris. And my father is only here a few nights a month. None of our staff are full time. I'm the only one here."

"Oh," Derek said, his face twisting into a grimace.

Before Lydia could question him about the expression, he knelt in front of her. He didn't say anything, just inched forward, looking up at her with what only could be termed 'puppy eyes,' even if they were glowing red. Lydia tilted her head and gave him a questioning look, and he seemed to take that as permission, because he pressed his face between her legs and inhaled deeply. Then he moaned.

Lydia took a few seconds to consider, but she could already feel a delicious tension starting low in her belly, her inner muscles fluttering and clenching hungrily. There was really no choice to be made. She liked sex, and Derek was good at it, and didn't expect anything else from her. Nor did she want anything from him outside of these moments. It was a good arrangement, much better than the high school guys who thought one night meant they were her boyfriend. Who couldn't understand the world she moved in, who truly were children next to her.

Sleeping with them always left her vaguely unsatisfied, perhaps a little sickened, because as much as Derek had been afraid that first time that he was using Lydia, Lydia _knew_ that she was using those boys. But Derek was using her as much as she was using him. They were equals, well matched, and this was better, so much better…

Derek just kept smelling her, nose buried in her sex, growling and whining. It turned Lydia on, and she buried her fingers in Derek's hair, holding him in place, grinding against his face. She was already so close. Maybe she was easy for him, or maybe he was just that good, but he wound her up so fast, and she could feel the tip of his erection pressed against her leg.

He mouthed at the fabric separating his lips from her skin, and she whined, wanting, _wanting_, and then Derek pushed her panties to the side, slipping his tongue into her folds, and she gasped. "Fuck, Lydia, you smell so good, your taste," he groaned, and his tongue hit her clit, making her buck. His hands came up, holding her down, making her be still, and white spots exploded behind Lydia's eyes when he found her clit again and _sucked_.

Her orgasm was so powerful that her toes curled and she left scratches on Derek's neck. Scratches that were already healing.

By the time Lydia had caught her breath, Derek had already taken himself in hand, and he was pushing her camisole down to come all over her naked breasts. Then he gathered her up and carried her to her bed, where he arranged her against the pillows and curled around her, his head on her stomach, arms wrapped around her waist.

Lydia ran one hand through his hair, and rested the other on his neck, and he went boneless, sinking into the mattress, as if that was the last thing he needed to truly relax.

Lydia filed that information away, but said nothing.

After fortyish minutes of cuddling, Derek got up, brought her a washcloth, got dressed, and jumped through her window without saying a word.

**-l-**

The next day at school, Scott and Isaac pointedly caught Lydia in the hallway when neither Stiles nor Allison were around. Seeing the serious looks on their faces, she took them to a quiet corner of the library, sat down and said, "What is it?"

Isaac looked haunted, pained, and Lydia felt a twinge of sympathy for him. She was calculating and self-serving, yes, but she wasn't made of ice.

Scott merely looked earnest.

"Look, it's none of our business but…" Scott started. "The thing is, Derek ran off during the full moon last night, and when he came back, he smelled like you and… you know. Sex."

Lydia folded her arms, even as she felt all the blood leave her face. "You're right. It isn't any of your business."

Isaac cringed, and Scott held up his hands in a gesture of peace. "No judgment here. Just… he didn't you know, make you, did he? I mean it's the full moon and – "

Lydia laughed, a bitter, brittle thing that sounded like breaking glass. "_Make_ me? Do you really think Derek would do something like that, full moon or not?"

Isaac hunched his shoulders, but Scott relaxed. "Okay. Sorry. We just wanted to make sure you were alright. Won't mention it again."

Lydia felt something that was a strange mixture of gratitude and nausea.

"Thanks," she said to Isaac and Scott, in a breathy, scratchy voice that sounded like it contained tears but couldn't possibly, because she was Lydia Martin and she'd cried all her tears for Jackson Whittemore two years ago, and hadn't had a single one left in her body since.

To her great surprise, Isaac hugged her. It lasted only a second, and he marched off afterwards without looking at her, but he hugged her.

Scott gave her a smile, and said in parting, "We haven't said anything to Stiles or Allison. Figured it's your business, and well… neither of them will be the calmest about it."

"Thanks," Lydia said again.

**-l-**

For the next few months, Lydia only saw Derek at pack meetings, or on the nights of the full moon. It seemed that he was unable to stop himself from seeking her out on those days when his wolf was closest to the surface. The third time it happened, Lydia gave him a key to her house and told him to just let himself in. He took the key with no comment, and the next full moon, like clockwork, he parked the Camaro in her garage and prowled up the stairs to Lydia's wing of the house, kneeling before her and burying his face between her thighs.

That night, after the amazing sex, Lydia finally asked Derek about what drew him to her during the full moon. He kept sullenly silent, refusing to answer her questions. In response, Lydia tested a hypothesis.

She squeezed the back of Derek's neck, and gently ordered, "Tell me."

"During the full moon," Derek began at once, "everything is stronger. Instinct, sight, strength, scent… I can smell you, no matter where I am, and I… I have to come. I _need_ to come to you."

'Why?' Lydia almost asked. But she bit her tongue, because she was fairly certain that she already knew, and for some reason she didn't want to hear him say it out loud.

"This needs to happen more than once a month," she said instead. "From now on, I'll text you when I'm in the mood."

She was careful to remove her hand from his neck when she spoke. She wanted his desire to be _his_.

Derek smiled at her, a small, withered thing that was completely unlike the false smiles he showed the world. She responded with a small, close lipped smile of her own, because Lydia couldn't remember how to smile a smile that wasn't a mask.

**-l-**

Derek turned out to be an excellent fuck buddy. He always came when Lydia called, if not right away, then as soon as he was able; he was good at it; and he happily stayed with Lydia as long as she wanted him to, and just as happily left as soon as she told him to go away.

It was a good, mutually beneficial arrangement, and Lydia was pleased with it. In fact, she was so pleased that she was idly coming up with plans to get Derek to accompany her to MIT. Nothing concrete, not yet, but she was letting the ideas percolate in the back of her mind as she took her end of semester exams and ordered the housekeeper and the gardener to decorate for Christmas.

**-l-**

Lydia was spending Christmas alone. Her father was in New York, making important connections at various holiday parties, her mother was wintering in Australia, Allison and her father had gone to visit relatives to get away from their empty house full of guns, and Danny, Scott, and Stiles were with family.

Despite her popularity, Lydia didn't really have anyone else she cared to spend her free time with.

Well, except for…

She stared at her cell phone for several long minutes, and then she texted Derek.

_Dinner is at 6. Bring Isaac. Peter can come, but he has to eat in the kitchen._

She didn't want Peter in her house any more than Derek would want to bring him along, but Lydia knew that if Derek left Peter on his own, he would feel guilty.

This would be her Christmas gift to him.

Derek texted back.

_Ok_

Lyda's lips twisted themselves into a smirk.

_Dress nice_, she texted. Then she went through her contacts list and called a caterer, agreed to pay extra for the short notice, arranged for the food to be delivered at half past five, and went to shower and put together an appropriate hostess ensemble.

She also hid little vials of wolfsbane around the house, in case Peter got uppity.

**-l-**

Derek, Isaac, and Peter showed up exactly on time. Derek was wearing a white button down with black pants, and for once his face was free of stubble; Isaac was looking uncomfortable in a suit jacket that was slightly too short in the sleeves, and Peter was dressed to the nines, turned out in an exquisite suit that Lydia couldn't have coordinated better herself.

It was a pity that Peter's fashion sense wasn't something that was passed on to the other wolves.

Isaac brandished a bouquet of flowers at Lydia, a blush on his cheeks. "Mrs. McCall said…" he trailed off when Derek growled.

Lydia laughed, both at Isaac's nervousness and Derek's territorial display, took the flowers to put them in water, and sent the wolves toward the dining room. At her signal, the catering staff came forward to serve them and pour the wine, and Lydia busied herself with directing everyone to their proper seats. She'd put place cards in front of their plates, both because it was the proper thing to do, and because she wasn't risking Peter sitting near her. Lydia took the head of the table, Derek to her right and Isaac to her left, and Peter was banished to the end of the table, though not allowed to sit at the foot, as that would imply that he was co-hosting the party.

Lydia had made etiquette her bitch.

Peter complimented the tasteful decorations and Lydia's choice of caterer, and engaged Lydia in conversation about the wine, which Lydia was happy to indulge him in. It was Christmas, and she could be civil to Derek's uncle so long as he was doing the same for her. But then Peter said, "I must really offer a toast. Congratulations, nephew. You've chosen an excellent new matriarch for the pack. I couldn't have done better myself."

Derek choked on his turkey. Isaac froze, watching Lydia out of the corner of his eye. Peter gave Lydia a smug look.

And Lydia?

Lydia smiled, taking deep, even breaths through her nose in an effort to keep her heart at its normal rate. After all, Peter's comment hadn't surprised her. She'd suspected for some time that it was something like this. Why else would Derek obey her orders? Why else would he be drawn to her during the full moon?

She'd bitten him, that first time they had sex. She'd deliberately given him a mate-bite, and Derek had _submitted_. Maybe he hadn't meant to, but he'd certainly _wanted_ to, somewhere deep down. Derek was an alpha. There was no way a human could force a submission out of him.

He was Lydia's now, by desire or design. And she was fine with that. Fine with their arrangement.

Derek was giving her a look that was almost fearful, and Lydia redirected her focus to Peter. "Thank you," she said simply. "But I chose Derek, not the other way around."

She raised her glass, giving Peter a challenging stare, and he raised his in return. "A toast then," he said, trying to cover his confusion. Lydia could see his mind working, could almost feel it. It had been this way ever since he rose from the grave. She tensed to keep from shivering, and felt Derek press his leg against hers. "To Lydia and Derek," Peter finished.

"To Lydia and Derek," Isaac repeated, wide eyed.

They all drank their wine.

**-l-**

That was the first night Derek stayed. He didn't trust Peter, was afraid he was up to something, with the comments he'd made and the looks he'd given them. Lydia would never trust Peter, so she agreed. She settled Isaac in a guest room, and gave Peter the fold out bed in the basement rec room so that he was as far from them as possible, and then she returned to her suite, where Derek was waiting.

For once, they didn't have sex. Derek wanted to stay on alert, and he confessed that he couldn't focus on anything else when Lydia's voice was in his ears and her scent in his nostrils. It drove him wild, until she was the only thing that existed.

So instead, Derek stripped down to his briefs and Lydia put on fresh panties and a camisole, and they curled into her bed together, Derek nuzzling Lydia and then tucking her face into his throat. Somehow, she knew what he wanted, and so she opened her mouth and bit, latching onto his neck with her teeth and feeling his limbs go loose around her.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"You're mine," she answered. It wasn't a question.

"Yes."

"Are you glad?" she asked, her lips brushing over his skin. He ran a large hand up her spine.

"Relieved," he said. "Grateful."

A pause. "Are you?" he asked. "Glad?"

Lydia thought, listening to the beats of Derek's heart. Thought of the empty house and the lie the world lived in and the feeling of Derek's hands on her hips. Thought of the parents who barely knew her and the friends who saw her too clearly and all the missing pieces. "Relieved," she decided at last. "Grateful. Fulfilled."

_Loved_, she wanted to say. _Is this love?_ she wanted to ask. But she didn't because she doubted Derek would know any better than she did. And because it didn't matter.

Whatever it was, it was close enough.


End file.
